


Dragonborn Begins: The Ballad of Bjorn the Swordsmith

by Henryspencer89



Category: Elder Scrolls, Elder Scrolls Online, Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim, The Elder Scrolls: Legends
Genre: Dragonborn (Elder Scrolls), Elder Scrolls Lore, Hammerfell, Multi, Nord, Original Character(s), Redguard - Freeform, Skyrim - Freeform, Thalmor, The Great War (Elder Scrolls), the elder scrolls
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-29
Updated: 2018-11-29
Packaged: 2019-09-02 10:15:50
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,811
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16784941
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Henryspencer89/pseuds/Henryspencer89
Summary: This is the origin story for my "canon" Dragonborn Bjorn the Swordsmith, a male Nord barbarian and bard who grew up in Hammerfell. The characters in this story are all my original characters(except Alduin who is described, but not mentioned by name. Other Bethesda characters including Elenwen and Erikur may be involved in the story later on as well) . I love Elder Scrolls lore. The Elder Scrolls games always get my imagination going and I love creating characters within that universe.  The story starts with Bjorn's early childhood and will eventually lead up to Bjorn crossing the border into Skyrim on that fateful day. It will also explain his reasons for traveling there in the first place.  Enjoy!





	Dragonborn Begins: The Ballad of Bjorn the Swordsmith

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This part of the story focuses on Bjorn's childhood and early adolescence. His parents were fugitives of the Dominion and fled to Hammerfell to escape persecution and to settle down to a quieter lifestyle. Bjorn learns how to be a blacksmith from his father, and about music, literature and history from his mother. He falls in love with a local Reguard girl named Amirah but her father doesn't approve of the relationship. The Thalmor have secretly hired bandits and spies to do their dirty work in Hammerfell since they can't operate there openly. This is only part one of Bjorn's story. There is more to come!

Bjorn was raised in the Dragontail Mountains of Hammerfell. His parents Freya and Gunther were owners of a weapon and armor shop called “Hammer and Anvil “on the outskirts of Dragonstar in a wooden house that they had built themselves.Gunther was not a typical Nord blacksmith. His work took influence from Akaviri, Dwarven and Orcish craftsmanship. While Redguards were noted for their Scimitars, they did not have their own distinct armor sets. They appreciated Gunther’s work as they usually would wear armor from various cultures anyway. He would get a lot of wealthy customers from Dragonstar and the other nearby settlements because of this.

Freya and Gunther were originally from Skyrim. They had become fugitives of the Aldmeri Dominion for being outspoken against them and for helping many former Blades and other Thalmor enemies seek refuge after the Great War.

The couple fled to Hammerfell to escape persecution and to raise their son in a more secure environment. The Redguard and Nordic cultures had a lot of similarities so the family figured it would not be difficult to adjust. They admired the Redguards for standing their ground as a sovereign state and breaking free from the rule of both the Empire and the Dominion. While Skyrim would always hold a special place in their hearts, they were happy to call Hammerfell their new home.

Though they lived outside any major settlement, the family was far from lonely. The house was made whole through the love Freya and Gunther had for both their son, and for each other. People enjoyed visiting with them, they were drawn in by Gunther’s great sense of humor and infectious laugh and Freya’s talent for storytelling and singing. The couple would share mead with him many guests as Freya would tell tales of their days together in the Legion and Gunther would tell jokes that could get even the most serious characters to crack a smile.

Bjorn’s earliest memories were of watching his father work the forge. He was too young to understand what a forge was or what he was doing, yet he was still mesmerized by it. All that the boy could see was a tall, proud looking man creating incredible art that looked as if it were from another world. To young Bjorn, he looked like a giant who had been given the forge as a gift from the gods themselves to create these masterworks.

Gunther was a bulky man with a long and bushy red beard. While he had a jovial disposition most of the time, there was a hard shell around him that was difficult to break through. It sometimes seemed as though he used humor to hide the pain that he felt inside. The war had taken its toll on him, he could never fully get over all the bloodshed he had witnessed. The battles outside might have been over, but the battles within were unending. No matter how many years passed, the memories continued to haunt him.

When Bjorn reached the age of four, Gunther began teaching him how to smith. By the age of twelve, he was able to create his own custom armor and weapon sets. Bjorn was raised to view smithing as an art. Just like the bards would compose songs, every weapon and set of armor was like a musical piece and even if two smiths worked on the same exact piece it would never come out quite the same.

Bjorn was very educated for his age thanks to his mother Freya and her knowledge of history and literature that she had gained during her time as a traveling bard. She did not only teach him their own people’s past, but about other race’s accomplishments as well.

“We Nords should take pride in our heritage” she told him, “But that doesn’t mean we can’t respect other cultures, and embrace each other’s differences. I feel blessed by the Gods to live in a world of such variety and with such rich histories of different people.”

Freya also taught Bjorn a thing or two about playing music. She would teach him to play many of the old Nordic classics on the lute. He never felt quite satisfied with his playing and never felt he played quite as well as her. He often wanted to give up playing because of this, but Freya wouldn’t let him and insisted he keep trying.

“You have a great talent Bjorn. I can see it. If you only believe in yourself you’ll be able to play better than me one day.”

She let him keep her lute that had belonged to her since she was a young girl growing up in Skyrim.“

These stories and songs,” Freya told her son, “They have been with our people for generations. Now it is you who will pass them down to the next ones.”

“Thanks,” said Bjorn, not sure whether he was worthy of this honor.

Freya patted him on the back and smiled.“Perhaps you’ll write songs about your own adventures one day,” she told him, “or maybe someone will write a song about you.”

“I don’t think I want to adventure mother. I want to stay here with you and papa. I like it here. I wish I could stay here forever.”

Freya was touched by what young Bjorn had said and began to tear in her eye, “You most certainly can Bjorn. But as you get older you’ll want your own life. Your father and I will always be here for you though. You can always count on that.”

Freya was quite a bit shorter than your average Nord, but it was easy not to notice when you saw how skilled of a warrior she was. Though she appeared hardened by the harshness of the world around her, she had a vivacious spirit and was highly compassionate and empathetic. She had long, blonde braided hair and soulful eyes that looked as if they carried the wisdom of all existence. She could read anyone like a book and tell their worth just by looking at them.

Gunther knew he loved Freya the moment that he laid eyes on her. He was shy to tell her up front how he felt, so he decided to put it into writing instead. Gunther was no bard like Freya, but he managed to write a poem that impressed her. Freya told Gunther that she felt the same way and the two of them decided they would get married after the war.  


While Gunther and Freya were both adventurers in their younger years, they decided to settle down to a quieter lifestyle after the war. Living in the wilderness outside Dragonstar allowed them to stay away from the chaos of city life while not being completely isolated from civilization.

  


Gunther had his forge out on the porch. He loved working outside. While he was more introverted than Freya, he enjoyed talking with travelers who passed by the shop and hearing their stories.

One frequent passerby was a Crown noble and Great War hero named Umar. There were rumors he was the mysterious “Forgotten Hero”, but no one knew for sure. He appeared dignified, yet had eyes filled with sorrow and mistrust. He had short black hair and a goatee that was tied in braids at the bottom. He wore expensive looking clothes and had the physique of a strong warrior.

Umar first came to the shop to warn Freya and Gunther about stealing business from local Redguard blacksmiths. He claimed he had friends who were concerned about more competition in the area, especially from foreigners. However, as time went on Umar grew to respect the couple and while they didn’t get off to a good start, they eventually got along fine. Umar helped them set up trade with these Redguard blacksmiths: that way they were cooperating with each other rather than competing.

While the Crowns were generally xenophobic, they preferred to have Nords in the area over elves. They weren’t too disappointed in the family’s presence as long as they worked hard and contributed to the community.

Umar had a daughter about Bjorn’s age who would regularly pass by the shop. Sometimes she’d be by herself, collecting alchemy ingredients. Other times she’d be with her two brothers, a brutish looking warrior and a mage.

The girl had brown skin and long, black frizzy hair that went past her shoulders. She dressed classy and wore fancy dresses though she did not always seem comfortable in them. She had wide, captivating eyes and would often smirk as if she had her own private joke. She gave off the vibe that she was wise beyond her years, yet she also had a sense of playfulness about her.

Bjorn thought she was as beautiful as a Yokudan goddess. He never got the opportunity to approach her since he usually was busy working whenever she was nearby, so she did it for him. She snuck up on him one day when he was busy hammering away and poked him from behind.

“What the…. Hey! You startled me! What in Oblivion is wrong with you?” He cried.

The young girl started laughing. Bjorn didn’t seem quite as amused.

“Oh you think that’s funny do you?” asked Bjorn rhetorically, “Do you know what kind of tools I’m working with here? I could have seriously hurt you!”

“Oh come on, “she said, “Lighten up will you? You had such a serious look on your face I had to try and brighten your mood somehow."

“I was actually enjoying myself.”

“Yeah I could tell,” she said sarcastically.

“What? I’m serious!” said Bjorn indignantly, “Some of my happiest moments are at the forge. Smithing is my passion. It’s what I love. I hope that when I’m older I’ll be as fine of smith as my father.”

“Don’t you ever like to take a break though? Every time I’ve seen you you’re working over there. It doesn’t seem like you ever have any fun.”

Bjorn shrugged and turned back to his work. He was pretending he didn’t like her.

“I mean don’t you have any friends or any other hobbies? Doesn’t it get lonely?”

“ I don’t know. I play the lute,” Bjorn finally said, “What difference does it make to you?”

“Just making conversation.”

“Ok well I have a lot of work to do. So if you’re going to stay here at least make yourself useful and hand me that iron ingot over there.”

The girl folded her arms, “Get it yourself, I’m not your servant.”

“Fine I will, “said Bjorn, grabbing the ingot without even looking at her.

“You know I’m surprised you’re being this cold to me. Many times when I’ve passed by here, I’ve seen you making eyes at me.”

Bjorn dropped his hammer out of nervousness. The girl giggled.“I don’t know what you’re talking about. I’ve never even seen you before.”

“Of course not. Well anyway, I’ll let you get back to work.” She chuckled.

The girl began to walk away.

“Wait a minute,” Bjorn called after her, “perhaps we can talk more sometime when I am less busy.”

The girl turned around and smiled, “Sure, I’d like that.  
“Maybe we can spend the day in Dragonstar. I’ve only been there a few times but I love it. It has some similarities to Skyrim.”

The girl laughed, “What do you mean you’ve only been there a few times? You live right near it. You’re practically a local yourself.”

“What can I say? I guess I need to get out more. Like you said.”

“Well I’ve lived in Dragonstar my whole life and it’s great. I’d love to show you around. How about tomorrow evening?”

“That would be perfect,” Bjorn smiled, “By the way I don’t think we’ve been properly introduced. My name is Bjorn. What’s yours?”

”Amirah. My name’s Amirah. Nice to meet you Bjorn.”

The girl walked off. Gunther came back to the forge to check on Bjorn’s progress.  
“How’s the armor coming along?”

“It’s getting there.”

“Getting there? If you weren’t wasting time chatting, it’d be finished by now.”

“Sorry about that. I told her I was working but she wouldn’t listen.”

Gunther laughed, “I’m messing with you. It was nice to see you talking with a pretty girl. If I were a young man I’d be distracted by her too.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. I didn’t get a good look at her. I didn’t notice.”

“Can’t fool me boy. Sure you noticed, you’re getting to be that age now. Nothing to be embarrassed about.”

“Well I suppose she was nice. But she’s just a friend. Nothing more.”

“Friends are nice, you could use a few of those,”

Gunther looked as if he was reflecting on something and smiled to himself. He then said to Bjorn, “you know your mother used to talk to me when I was at the forge back when we first met. Never would have guessed a woman like her would take a liking to me. But I guess stranger things have happened.”

Bjorn looked up at Gunther, “you think she likes me?”

Gunther’s eyes widened up as if he had just drifted off and caught himself, “What? Ah I don’t know. Maybe. Who knows? Maybe she just enjoys bugging you.”

Bjorn smiled at that joke.

“Ah good! You smiled! That’s good for you! Always so serious all the time. Anyway, let’s get back to work.”

The next evening Bjorn and Amirah met up in Dragonstar as they had planned. They stood looking at the iconic dragon fountain in the center of town. On top of the fountain was a bust of two dragon heads placed back to back and facing opposite directions. They were black with red eyes and looked as if they were scolding anyone who came near them. Bjorn seemed hypnotized by it.

“You alright?” Amirah was becoming concerned about his fascination with this artifact.

Bjorn didn’t respond. He was glaring at the statue as if it had put him under some sort of spell.

“I’ve had dreams of a dragon that looks kind of like this, “he finally said “Only the one in my dreams is more menacing. He looks at me as if he knows me, as if he’s been expecting me.”

Amirah sighed, “It’s just a dream,” she reassured him, “That’s all it is. The dragons have been gone for centuries.”

“Maybe. But something about it feels real. Like it’s not just a dream, but this creature trying to reach me through another realm.”

Amirah shrugged, “Who knows what it could mean. I wouldn’t worry too much about it.”

“What about you, Amirah? You ever have a dream like that?”  
“About dragons?”  
“No, I mean one that impacts you so much, it feels like it’s trying to tell you something.”

“Well, yes actually. I wouldn’t say they’re trying to tell me something, but I have had dreams that feel very real. I’d rather not talk about them though.”

“Don’t be silly, Amirah. You can tell me anything.”

“Well I told you before that my mother died when I was just a young girl, only 4 years old.”

“Yes of course. I know. I’m sorry you went through that. I can’t even imagine what that was like for you.”  
A look of despair came across Amirah’s face.  
“Sometimes I still have dreams of when I saw her die right before my eyes. She was such a kind soul and those elf bastards slaughtered her like it was nothing!”  
Bjorn put his hand on her shoulder. She started to cry.  
“My parents made it no secret that they supported an independent Hammerfell. Once the Great War ended the redguards resisted for another five years. And we won! We won our independence from that weak and dying empire and from the wretched Dominion. My father was a warrior, but my mother was more of a diplomat. She wanted our independence to come peacefully, through nonviolent resistance. She had many followers. People looked up to her as a symbol of freedom and rebellion. Her name, Izara, was fitting. She was named after one of the Crown rebels who tried to fight off Tiber Septim’s invading forces in the Second Era. She was very charismatic. She was against what the Thalmor stood for but did not think violence was the answer. ‘ideas are our weapon’ she’d say. If only she wasn’t so foolish.”

“I wouldn’t say she was foolish, sounds like she wanted a better world. “

“Doesn’t sound like you’re too familiar with the Thalmor. Everyone knows they can’t be reasoned with. But she was an idealist.”

“Using violence against those who are violent only creates more violence. It sounds like she had the right idea. We don’t defeat our enemies by becoming just like them.”

“You wouldn’t be saying that if it happened to your parent. All I know is when I’m older I want to kill every last Thalmor there is. My father wants me to settle down when I’m of age and marry a man of noble birth. But I want no part of that. I’m a warrior at heart. My place is on the battlefield, fighting for what’s right. I won’t rest until every one of those bastards suffers for what they did to her and the rest of my countrymen.”

“I have no love for the Thalmor either,” said Bjorn, “It was sad having to leave Skyrim at such a young age. The Thalmor wanted my parents executed and the Empire stayed silent. My parents are heros. They fought and bled for the empire. And that coward of an emperor turned his back on them.” 

Bjorn took a deep breath to calm down. He was getting very angry. He paused for a moment before he spoke again.

“But violence and hatred doesn’t get us anywhere. I know my rage wiill only cause more problems. Maybe for once we should give peace a chance.”

“My mother thought that way,” said Amirah, “and now she’s dead. Nirn wasn’t made for peace makers. Anyway, let us talk of more pleasant things. This topic upsets me greatly.”

Through talking about more “pleasant topics” Bjorn and Amirah discovered that they both had a love for music and poetry. This helped them bond on a much deeper level.

They met up several times after this to write songs together, and to learn to play traditional Nordic and Yokudan pieces. Amirah was also a dancer and Bjorn would play percussion pieces to go along with her movements. She was especially skilled in ancient Yokudan belly dancing and taught Bjorn how to play some traditional Redguard music. It was mainly percussion based with flute to go along with it at times.

Bjorn and Amirah talked about performing together in inns, but Bjorn insisted that they practiced more first. When it came to music or smithing, Bjorn was a perfectionist. Amirah shared a similar mindset.

The connection they had was unique. They were creators and dreamers in a world full of destroyers. . Bjorn decided that Amirah was much more to him than a good friend. While they were still very young, Bjorn knew what he felt for her was real. He decided to take after his father and wrote a poem to express his feelings for her.

The poem read:

"Amirah, I never told you how I truly feel  
Hiding my feelings is far from ideal  
Love is our connection  
It will give our lives a meaningful direction.  
With our love combined everything is in reach  
Together we can withstand any siege  
The moment I saw you my heart was sold  
I dreamt that together we will grow old  
Being with you makes everything else so futile  
Every night I dream of your smileEternal bliss is where I'm bound  
In your arms is where it's foundThis poem has come to an end  
Remember that, without you, my heart feels bent"

Though Amirah thought the poem was corny, it still moved her deeply. She kissed him and told him she felt the same way about him.

Umar wasn’t too happy about his daughter’s relationship with Bjorn. He stormed over to the shop to give Bjorn’s parents a piece of his mind.

“First you come here and steal business from the locals, now you have your son corrupting my daughter,” cried Umar.

“I’d say what your daughter has with our son is a beautiful thing,” said Freya, “And look how happy they are together. Would you rob your daughter of happiness?”

“I don’t need you telling me about my daughter or what she needs,” Umar snapped at her, “Hammerfell won’t continue to stand on its own against the Dominion if we allow foreigners to come here and take our lifestyle away from us!”

“We fought in the Great War against the Dominion alongside many Redguard brothers and sisters!” cried Freya, “We have the utmost respect for your people! We are not here to change anything about your way of life. We are here to share ours with you! “

“We don’t need to share anything,” Umar asserted, “We had the empire here for hundreds of years imposing its laws on us. They forced us to join them, to “share” with the rest of the provinces and to not have our own identity and culture. And where did that get us? Nations don’t stand strong without a sense of pride and tradition. We can’t always welcome outsiders, sometimes we have to look out for ourselves first.”

“There’s no reason why we can’t respect each other’s differences and live among each other in peace,” argued Gunther, ignoring what Umar had just said, “The Forebears understand that. Why don’t you?”

“I don’t want to hear about those damn Forebears! I’d see them out of here as well if I had my way. I’m sorry we didn’t crush them all in that civil war! They have no right to call themselves Redguards!”

“When I fought in the Great War, I did not see Redguards, Nords or elves. I saw citizens of Tamriel united against a common enemy!” Gunther continued, “If we fight amongst each other we will never see a world free of the Thalmor!”

Umar paused for a moment, “Look, I am aware of your deeds in Skyrim. I know why you came here. Anyone who stands up to the Dominion is worthy of my respect,” Umar’s tone was now more agreeable, “You obviously are hardworking, law abiding, and have contributed a lot during your stay here. But there’s one thing you need to understand: Hammerfell is for the Redguards. This is our land. We built it. My daughter needs to help carry on her family’s legacy, her PEOPLE’s legacy and she doesn’t need some foreigner distracting her.”

Bjorn was sitting in his room listening to this conversation. He was infuriated that he wasn’t included in the discussion and at the things Umar was saying. He wasn’t going to let this man get in between him and the woman he loved. In his mind he could see the same black dragon with red eyes that he had seen in his visions before. Something dark and powerful came over him. He rushed out of his room and pointed a dagger at Umar’s throat.

“I’m here why don’t you talk to me directly?”

Umar chuckled “You are still a boy. A stupid, naive little boy. This matter should only be discussed among adults. Now put that dagger away before you get hurt.”  
“I don’t think so”

“You got a lot of nerve kid you know that? Better watch it. Might not end well for you one day.”

Gunther was shocked and couldn’t say anything, Freya was furious. She grabbed the dagger out of his hand and slapped him across the face.

“Bjorn what is wrong with you? Get back to your room. This is not how we raised you.”

Bjorn ignored her and got in Umar’s face.

“If you have something to say you can say it to me. Amirah and I love each other and nothing you say will change that. If I have to kill you to get you out of the way, so be it...”

“I'd love to see you try,” said Umar with a smirk on his face.

“Mom? Dad? You’re going along with this? What about what I want? What about what she wants?”

Umar interjected “you are just children. You don’t know what you want. When you get older you will see what I mean. Think of your family. It’s better for you if you marry a Nord girl and carry on your people’s bloodline and history.”

“Whatever makes our son happy is fine with us.” said Gunther.

“Then let some other Redguard girl breed herself out of existence with him! It won’t be my daughter,” he then looked at Freya and Gunther with disgust. “You should be ashamed of yourselves. No sense of honor or tradition”.

“You made your point. Now I think it's about time you were on your way” Freya demanded.

“Very well. I think you and your son get the message now.”

As he was walking out he stopped and turned around, “There is something I must warn you about. The dominion: they are operating here in Hammerfell in secret. They are sending bandits to do their dirty work and to go after fugitives of the Thalmor. It’s hard to recognize them as Dominion agents since many of them are not Altmer. If I can offer you protection I will but I can’t make any promises.”

“We’ll do just fine on our own,” said Gunther, “But thanks for the warning”.

Bjorn didn't even hear that warning. He was too heartbroken about the previous conversation. He had to find a way to still see Amirah despite what Umar wanted. But how? Umar's house was heavily guarded. He'd be easily spotted if he tried to sneak in. Maybe Amirah could sneak out to see him instead, he thought. But how would he even contact her?

Bjorn was angry and frustrated. There was no easy solution. He couldn’t imagine things getting any worse than this. But unfortunately for him, things would get much worse in ways he never could have expected.

He awoke a couple of nights later to hear laughing coming from outside his bedroom window. There was something very sinister about this laugh. Whatever the joke was, Bjorn knew he would not find it funny. Before Bjorn could even begin to investigate, he was startled by the sound of glass breaking.

Bjorn’s parents readied their weapons. Gunther rushed into Bjorn’s room which was right next to theirs.

“Get to the cellar, now!” He Demanded.

“But father, I want to go with you and mother! If there’s danger, I want to fight too! I want to defend our home!”

“Did you hear me boy?” Gunther was getting impatient, “you go back to the cellar now and don’t come back until we tell you it is safe!”

Freya agreed with Gunther, “Do as your father asks Bjorn. We will come and get you when it is safe.”

“Yes mother,” Bjorn respected his parent’s wishes although he did not like the idea.

Freya kissed Bjorn on the forehead before he ran to the cellar. Gunther and Freya then continued into the room where they heard the glass break to discover that a group of bandits had broken into their home. The windows were shattered and they had kicked the front door down. The room was dark, it was impossible to make out the faces, until one mysterious creature who appeared to be the leader of the group stepped forward into the light. He was laughing with the same demonic laugh Bjorn had heard moments earlier. He was one of the Khajiit, the cat people of Elsweyr, though he looked more menacing than the ones they had usually encountered. His face was covered in scars, and he wore an eye patch on his right eye. His name was Zalam-dar.

The cat had an unusual pair of companions. One was a handsome looking tall Nord with long, dark brown hair and a scruffy beard who wore armor made from a sabre cat, and used a Warhammer made from the bones of a mammoth he had slain. His name was Fenrir the Unmerciful. The other was Margaret, a young Breton woman with messy dark brown hair. She wore ragged clothes and had a necklace made of severed ears and other souvenirs from the many “adventures” she had been on. Margaret was better known by her nicknames “Wildcat Maggie” or “Hagraven" that she was given because of her sharp teeth that she had filed into razor blades and the long brass fingernails attached to her gloves. “What do you want cat? What are you and your thugs doing in our home?” Gunther demanded to know. The cat laughed, “Ha! These ones did not think they could escape the Dominion so easily did they? The Dominion always finds ways to root out their enemies. These ones have been a thorn in the Dominion’s side for too long.”

Gunther looked over at Fenrir with disgust.

“Hmph! How can a fellow Nord be a pawn of the Dominion? Don’t you have any honor?”

Fenrir chuckled “Coin is good no matter who it comes from. Honor is a fool’s virtue.”

“I’m warning you, cat: we are no stranger to battle and if you plan on trying to hurt us, it won’t go the way you think it will” said Freya, “so leave here now before I cut your whiskers off freak!”

“Ha! Well gang these ones want to do it the hard way. Attack!”

And so the fight was on. The two of them fought off Zalam-dar and his thugs for as long as they could but soon realized that they were outmatched. Gunther Was blocking the blows of Fenrir’s warhammer with his battle axe though he was finding it hard to focus with Margaret clawing into his back. Freya was taking on Zalam-dar with her longsword and shield. . She knocked him down and was ready to finish him off when she noticed Gunther was in trouble.

Margaret had jumped on Gunther and had started biting him and clawing into his chest. Before Freya could help him, Margaret bit deep into Gunther's jugular, killing him within seconds. Freya was so full of rage, she forgot about her opponent and rushed towards Margaret letting out a loud battle cry. Margaret laughed at Freya as she charged at her. Zalam-dar grabbed Freya from behind when she wasn’t looking and plunged his sword into her heart. Zalam-dar pulled his blade out of her, and she joined her husband lying dead on the ground.

“Ah! My, oh my! What a mess these ones left!” said Zalam-dar looking around the room, “Well gang take what you can get, and then we’ll hit the tavern. Zalam-dar could really use a bottle of mead right now”

"Ah yes! Warm belly full of mead! HA!" Margaret chuckled.

“Boss,” said Fenrir while looking through one of the shelves, “Looks like we got some mead right here, no need to hit the tavern, we got it for free! Ha-ha! Can’t beat that!”

"HAHAHAH!! YES! YES! YES! Can't beat that can we?" Margaret was jumping up and down laughing her head off.,

Zalam-dar turned around to look at Fenrir who was now holding two bottles of mead in his hands.

“Ha! Very nice indeed! Zalam-dar likes that very much!”

Margaret went and sliced an ear off of both Freya and Gunther. She was giggling as she did it. The rest of the gang looked at her as if her methods were too extreme for them. Not paying them any mind she attached the ears to her necklace.

“Oh yes, can’t go anywhere without my goodies can we?” laughed Margaret.

Zalam-dar stopped for a minute. He began to sniff and look around. He could sense they were not alone.

“Zalam-dar can smell another one. A young one! Oh where could this young one be?”

Bjorn had been looking through the cracks in the floor from the cellar the whole time. He had watched his parents die right in front of his eyes, and was now in a state of shock. He couldn’t move. His parents, who he thought were immortal and indestructible were now lying on the ground, lifeless. Just like that, they were gone. His brain couldn’t process it. He couldn’t feel anger or sadness, he was just completely numb. It took him a minute to realize the bandits had made their way to the cellar, and Zalam-dar had been looking right at him, talking to him for the past thirty seconds.

“Hey this one deaf? Zalam-dar asked, “who are you, young one’?”

Bjorn did not reply. He just stared at him, blankly, emotionless, as if he were in a trance.

“This one has brain damage? Did this one not learn to speak when others speak to him?”

"Yeah," laughed Margaret "Stupid little boy!"

“I say we kill him boss, just get it over with” said Fenrir, “Who cares who he is?”

“Quiet, Fenrir!” Zalam-dar snapped at him, “I would like to hear this one speak!”

“I’m……Bjorn……..” He finally said.

In one instant everything that has happened finally kicked in, Bjorn looked at Zalam-dar as if he had awoken from a deep sleep. He started to see that dragon again in his mind’s eye.An overwhelming rage was building up in the young boy and Zalam-dar could see it. He pulled out his dagger and pointed it at them.

“I’m Bjorn,” he said, “and if you are going to kill me, you better damn well do it now.”

Zalam-dar and his thugs laughed.

“Ha! This one thinks he can fight me! What will this one do? Is that a toy dagger? Maybe this one should get a wooden sword instead! “

The bandits kept laughing.

“I told you, boss,” said Fenrir, “The little shit isn’t worth it. Just kill him and be done with it.”

“No, no, no. Zalam-dar likes a challenge. Killing this one is too easy. Let us leave friends. We shall let this one clean up the mess.”

They turned and began to walk away, until Bjorn called out behind them.

“You will regret this!”

Zalam-dar and his gang stopped, and began to slowly turn around.

“This one has a big mouth doesn’t he?”

“You heard me, cat. You will regret letting me live.”

“And why is that young one?” Zalam-dar stepped closer to him. Bjorn still had his dagger out but began to back away.

“Because when I get older, I will kill you all! I’ll kill all of you vermin and your Thalmor puppet masters! Mark my words!”

Zalam-dar stepped closer to him; Bjorn continued to back away slowly until he could not back up any further. Zalam-dar was now towering over him looking down at him like a large black cloud in the sky hovering over a small village.

“Oh, Zalam-dar is counting on it!”  
Zalam-dar kneeled down and yanked the dagger out of Bjorn’s hands and then looked him right in the eyes.  
“Zalam-dar is counting on it, and he’s looking forward to it!”

The bandits left. The anger had now left Bjorn for the time being, and it had been replaced with an unbearable feeling of grief. He enjoyed the anger more. The anger gave him ambition, a reason to keep going: his strive for vengeance. Grief just wore him down. It made him feel powerless and defeated.

Bjorn couldn’t stay in the house any longer, it was too overwhelming. He sat out on the front porch to try to get himself together. He sat out there contemplating throughout most of the night until he eventually fell asleep without realizing it. When the afternoon came he was awoken by an old orc warrior he had never seen before.

“Get up kid!”

Bjorn slowly opened his eyes and looked up at the strange character that approached him.

“What happened here?

Bjorn did not speak. The old orc grabbed him by the arm.

“You hear me kid?” his tone was now slightly more aggressive, “I asked you what happened here!”

“I don’t even know.” He finally said

“You don’t know?” said the orc, he looked around at the glass shattered on the ground and the broken windows and busted down door, “Something obviously happened here”

“It was my fault,” he said.

“What was?”

“It was me. I shouldn’t have listened to them. I should have went with them. I could have helped them.”

“Who? What are you …” The orc walked past Bjorn and stepped inside the house to see Gunther and Freya lying on the ground in a pool of their own blood. He looked back at the young boy too shocked to know what to say.

“Kid, who are those people in there?”

Bjorn didn’t answer. The orc started to shake him.

“Who are they kid? Are they your parents?”

Bjorn nodded.

“Who did this?”

“It was…one of those cats.”

“Cats? A Khajiit you mean?”

“Yeah. And a Nord. There was also a Breton woman...with claws and fangs like one of those hagravens I heard stories about and she had the most terrible laugh. It was terrifying. I don't even want to think of it. ”

“You know where they are now?”

Bjorn was staring blankly off into the distance. He did not make eye contact.

“No, but it doesn’t matter now, does it?” said Bjorn, “I’ve already failed my parents.”

The Orc looked at the boy and felt saddened by the pain in his eyes.

“I have to do something to help this boy,” he thought, “I can’t just leave him like this.”“So where will you stay now?” He finally asked.

“I don’t know.”

“No other relatives you can stay with?”

“No. Well, I mean, yes. But they are far from Hammerfell. It’s been years since I’ve seen them. I doubt they’d even remember me now. ”

The Orc rubbed his chin and thought for a moment until he finally spoke again.

“You can stay with me.”

Bjorn looked up, surprised.

“Stay with you? But where?”

“In my stronghold”

“Your…stronghold?”

“Yeah. I’m chief Kurdan of the Logh Goran stronghold. It’s not too far from here. We’ll take you in. You can live as one of us”

“But……I’m not an orc…”

“It doesn’t matter what race you were born as, being an Orc is a way of life,” explained Kurdan, “We’ll teach you to live by the code of Malacath and we’ll train you to be a fine warrior so you can protect yourself and others."

"I want revenge," Bjorn said, "can you help me kill the bastards who did this?"

Kurdan hesitated for a moment and then spoke, "I can teach you to fight," he explained, "what you do with that knowledge is your decision. But I do not encourage the path of vengeance. If you want to confront these men, do it to protect others, not out of hatred and blood lust." 

Bjorn raised his eyebrow and looked at Kurdan as if he were from another planet. 

"You don't seem like most Orcs I've heard about."

"I am different from many of them. Most are eager for a fight. They enjoy battle. But I take no pleasure in killing. I do it only when necessary." 

Bjorn was no longer paying attention. He said nothing. He was looking down at his hands. Kurdan pored him over like a concerned parent.

“My mother told me all about Malacath and the Orcs,” he finally said, trying to hold back his tears.

Kurdan kneeled down and put his hand on Bjorn’s shoulder, “Listen boy, There is nothing you can do for her now. Do you understand?”

Bjorn did not respond. He looked as if he were about to go back into that same trance he was in before.

“Hey! “Kurdan snapped his finger in front of Bjorn’s face to get his attention. Bjorn looked up at him.

"You have to be strong and keep going: For yourself and for their honor,” said Kurdan, “There are other scoundrels out there just like the ones who killed your parents. If we let them kill our spirits and don’t stand up against them, they’ll continue to hurt others. Do you understand?”

Bjorn nodded. Kurdan patted him on the back.

“So what you say friend? Will you join us at our stronghold?”

“Well, I guess my life here is over,” said Bjorn, “I might as well come with you.”

“Glad to hear it kid. Gather whatever belongings are important to you and we’ll be on our way. We’ll make sure your parents receive a proper burial before we leave. By the way, what should I call you?”

“Call me Bjorn,” he said, “Bjorn the Swordsmith.”


End file.
